


Soggy Leaves and Blood Stains

by FantasyRyder



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Caring Will Graham, Dark Hannibal Lecter, Halloween, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Alana Bloom/Will Graham, Neither of the last two tags are surprising, Sad Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Wounds, Zombie Apocalypse, tsundere will graham, why is that not an official tag??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyRyder/pseuds/FantasyRyder
Summary: Years after the unpredicted zombie apocalypse, Will Graham, broken and alone with his dogs, is faced with a man in need of medical attention.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	Soggy Leaves and Blood Stains

Before the apocalypse, Will would have considered himself a pessimist; he expected the worst in most situations and he was quick to relinquish hope. His attitude changed with the state of society. As months went on and the situation seemed to be getting worse, his belief that things would work out in the end only grew. Perhaps it was denial but Will would not hear it. He carried the hope with him longer than most survivors in his immediate circle.

Will’s friends were always survivors, always resourceful, so before the four years, seven months, and twenty-nine day mark of the apocalypse (by Jimmy’s estimate) they lived better than most despite losing a few. Will had stuck with them for a while as Jack had insisted, and within a few months, after fruitlessly attempting to calm the insanity of the city with FBI forces, they fashioned a sanctuary between Fairfax and Reston out of a hospital at Will’s recommendation. They would have been unsafe in the city and Will knew the area well, after all.

Generally, everyone felt awful the first year or so of the apocalypse but Will kept busy and alone, hunting and guarding while managing not to kill anyone, though Jack couldn’t say the same. It worried Alana but she couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about either of them; Will warned her of that much. 

The second year rolled in with new people. Jack was hesitant to trust them and on-edge because of Bella, his wife’s, worsening health. Many interrogations began exclusively with “are you a doctor?” and when given the unsatisfactory answer, he would check out and allow whoever was with them to continue the interrogation without his presence. By the end of that year, twenty-seven survivors replaced Jack’s wife.

By the summer of the third year, spirits were higher than they had been since everything began. Jack, with Alana’s help, was able to come to terms with Bella’s death and continue being a leader of sorts and the systems established to keep everyone living were refined. The rural area Will suggested they settle in provided many survivors with hunting and farming backgrounds and, because of that, Will found himself no longer hunting and scouting alone.

Will began to lose hope once that summer came around. He questioned why he felt that way and decided it was because everyone came to terms with life as it was then and no longer thought of finding a cure or returning to former society. Killing became digestible at that point and, while Will and company were aware of the horrors that plagued America through word of mouth, they never truly experienced it aside from coming across brutalized corpses and helping survivors cope with the trauma they endured before being taken in.

Once the fourth year began, Will no longer felt he had a reason to stay. An additional forty survivors joined the sanctuary and Will realized he no longer had a place. He was perceived as a ghost, occasionally seen floating about the halls at random times in thought. No one really knew him aside from his former colleagues. To many of the survivors, he was viewed as just “someone who’s always been here” and Will didn’t favor that the same way he didn’t favor that before the apocalypse. 

Disregarding Alana's pleas and Jack’s imploring, he left.  
It was an arduous process, really: similar to a teenager moving out of their protective parent’s house. He had spent nearly three years exploring the area around their sanctuary, he had places in mind, but separation was difficult, even for those that he didn’t think cared a lot about him.

Jack sat him down many times, giving him what he imagined would have been a normal “father-son talk”. He wouldn’t have known given his father was too busy to give him those talks when he was growing up.

Brian struggled with apologizing to Will, selfishly thinking Will was leaving because of his slander. He wasn’t and Will let that be known as bluntly as he could.

Alana was probably the one that kept Will at the sanctuary the longest. He’d always been inclined, she knew that but didn’t truly reciprocate those feelings. Will came to realize she was simply protective, like an older sister of sorts, and because of that protectiveness and everything she had heard about the outside, she allowed herself to lead Will on. Alana established a slow-burn romance, something she didn’t plan on escalating, and that was probably what pushed Will to officially move out once he realized he was being manipulated.

With that all in mind, he gathered his few things and moved into a deserted cabin in the woods not far from the sanctuary, making sure that his friends knew that they could visit at any time if they were inclined.

If they would act like nothing was wrong, he’d do the same.

/////

The afternoon wasn’t picturesque in any sense of the word. Coming into the winter, shortly after all the leaves had fallen, there was a consistent boute of rain for nearly three days straight. Once it let up, the leaves became one with the sodden earth underneath them and the sky remained a dreary grey. 

When Will opened the living room window, the scent of the precipitation entered the house, bringing with it the faint scent of rotting corpses that he had grown used to. The zombies were close, he supposed as he scrunched his nose and closed the window after it had only been open for a few seconds.

He looked back at shuffling behind him and smiled at his canines faintly when they settled and sat beside him patiently, wanting to be let out to begin and finish their business.

“Alright… Just try to make it fast,” he mumbled as he opened the door and walked out onto the porch, “there are walkers nearby…”

They ran out the second he stepped out of the way of the exit. His pack were all the dogs he’d seen alive in years. Will liked to imagine other dogs had retreated when things got bad but he wasn’t that naive. In truth, he most likely saved them and they all reciprocate by being great companions. He couldn’t complain if they peed in the house or barked when they shouldn’t have, they cared about him in their own way.

Winston and Will perked in unison when a faint snap was heard in the not so far-off distance. A click of his tongue was enough to alert the dogs to run into the house. They were well trained and did as indicated.

Just inside, sat a desk with a bow and a few arrows skewed about its surface. He reached, retrieved the items, and stuck the correct stance, aiming it in the direction of the snap while taking partial cover behind the door.

There was a short silence before Will heard a more revealing crunch in the same area. It was a person and they knew their cover was blown. Will decided that was the best time to speak, a person with cognition is possible to reason with. 

“Who’s there?...”

Nothing.

“Reveal yourself. I know you’re there. What do you want?”

Two open palms revealed themselves from behind a thicker bunch of trees. 

“Okay, now the rest of you…”

The person the palms belonged to stepped out in a slick manner, face placid and pale. He seemed open to talking so Will began questioning again.

“Are you alone?” he mumbled, untrusting.

“No one is with me right now. It’s only you and I.”

Will released a steady breath through his nose. “What do you want?”

“I was passing through, exploring the area,” the man let out an abortive laugh, as though the situation was abnormal, “finding a place to stay. I want nothing from you.”

Will’s jaw set before he nodded his head. “Then keep moving.” He found his eyes straying from where he aimed to shoot for the first time. Looking at the man’s countenance, he was able to understand that he was in the wilderness for a while. He was absolutely soaked. His straight ashen hair laid in wet clumps on his forehead and he looked exhausted. Further inspection revealed diluted blood on his face from the rain as well as dark stains on his brown jacket that were not dissimilar to blood.

Will’s empathy and curiosity ate at him when the man began to turn to leave.

“How many have you killed?”

“... As many as I have needed to survive.”

“People and zombies?”

“People and zombies, yes.”

Will’s voice became hoarse, he was unsure but continued, “and you don’t know how many people you’ve killed?”

“Do you?” he faintly laughed.

Will hesitantly nodded and elaborated in response to the interest in the man’s eyes, “but that isn’t any of your business.”

“Why is that? Because it seems as though I’m the only one standing in the crosshairs of a possible murderer.”

“Because I’m the kind host considering letting you stay for the night.”

He raised his nearly invisible eyebrows, “I appreciate the courtesy,” and stepped forward before stilling when Will stiffened his stance threateningly.

“That is… if you tell me if that blood is your’s or someone else’s.”

The fellow blinked, almost dumbly, before his hands went to unzip the coat as slowly and non threateningly as he could manage. Will was wary but tilted his head slightly to see if he could get a better view. The man spread each half of his coat, showing the light fabric of his under shirt was stained a slightly darkened red.

Will’s mouth grew dry at the sight. “Do you have any weapons on you?”

The man visibly thought before pulling out a small knife that had been tucked in a pocket on the inside of the coat and underhanding it in Will’s direction. “Not any more.”

Will allowed his gaze to land on the pitiful knife, not wavering from his position. It would be dangerous to step out from cover, especially if that had been the plan: to make a weak, naive man step out from his house to retrieve the token of peace only to get gunned down by allies in the distance. He wouldn’t retrieve the knife and allowed his gaze to raise up to the older man’s eyes, wanting him to show any other weapons he may have on him.

At Will’s insistence, he reached in and pulled out the rest of the pockets on his body, providing proof of their absence.

Will found that good enough and finally lowered his readied bow. “Well than, you better come in. There’s zombies nearby.”

/////

“Strip,” Will mumbled as bluntly and clinically as he could manage after entering the living room.

The man, Hannibal, sat with perfect posture gently rubbing Buster’s head before the canine walked away to give Will room. His coat was peeled away slowly, a faint hiss released through Hannibal’s teeth throughout the process.

Once he finished, Will raised a hand to make him heed and leaned forward from his seat on the ottoman in front of the couch Hannibal sat on to cut away the fabric sticking to his wound.

“I have to warn you…” Will began, sensing the man’s eyes on him at his introduction, “I don’t have significant experience in the medical field.”

In the corner of his eye, Will noticed a warm smile flit across Hannibal’s features. “I appreciate the help nonetheless.”

Will scoffed, unable to hold back a bittersweet smile of his own, “well, don’t get used to this.”

Hannibal raised his eyebrows, aiming for Will to elaborate.

“I mean… don’t find yourself in trouble and come here thinking I’ll help you every time. I don’t really think you’re that kind of man but I can’t ever be too sure,’ he mumbled, words running together as he focused on dabbing the dried blood and grime from the wound, “I’m sure you understand.”

“I suppose,” he responded calmly before closing his eyes and releasing a slow exhale as Will applied alcohol to the wound. Will found his handling of the sensation admirable and concerning.

“...or are you?”

Amber eyes slowly opened and met Will’s.

“That kind of man? Do you find yourself in trouble a lot?... In pain?” Will looked down at the puncture on his pectoral, relatively clean of dirt and blood thanks to the water and alcohol, “because your pain tolerance is…”

“I have a lot of self control,” Hannibal began to explain, “my imagination and expectations are nearly as accurate as real life. Do you think me illogical? Illogical enough to seemingly put myself in a situation resulting in the wound you're mending, Will?”

Will thought on his words, “no, but would it be possible for you to tell me how it happened?”

A gentle breath caused Hannibal's chest to rise and fall. “It was at the break of dawn today, I got ambushed.”

Will’s brows furrowed ever so slightly as he began stitching the wound. “An ambush implies multiple assailants.”

“Yes.”

“And you were alone? Same as earlier?”

“Indeed.”

Will nodded slowly, “A knife wound and a few scuffs isn’t that bad of a turnout in an uneven matchup.”

“Do you think I’m being untruthful?”

Will leaned away from his chest, nearly halfway done with the stitching, blue eyes now trained on his unwaveringly, intelligently.

Hannibal was entranced.

“Do you think it is not my right to scrutinize the story when it sounds unrealistic?”

Hannibal nods his head no, thinks for a moment, and speaks. “It’s truthful but I’ll provide more details until it meets your standards of a believable story.”

Will nods and leans forward to resume.

“I woke up at dawn, having been sleeping in the attic of a house about two miles from here.”

“What direction?” Will spoke casually.

“Northeast.” Hannibal regarded Will’s internal criticisms before smiling faintly, “It was brick, with visible bullet holes at the entryway.”

Will remembered the house Hannibal spoke of and nodded.

“I walked towards your land before finding a gas station on the way. There, there was a group of exactly three men and a woman, all horribly starved and desperate. That, Will, is why I got the upper hand.”

Will knew the people Hannibal was talking about, not personally but he had seen them brutalize a few zombies with an excitement Will found tasteless and unnerving.

Will swallowed and nodded, wiping away the last of the blood as he realized that was another group of individuals he’d never get to see alive again, not that seeing them alive was pleasant in the first place.

Hannibal smiled at the creases between Will’s brows as he took the rag to dab away the blood he brought forth when he was stitching. “As someone with experience in the field of medicine, you did a good job”

Before Will could have an emotional reaction to Hannibal’s words, the faint voice in his head from a life passed reminded him that Jack needed a doctor for his dying wife. His heart ached with the late reminder. After the initial, pre-programed thought, he went from staring at the now clean wound to looking up at Hannibal quickly, eyes wide with an amalgamation of timid mortification and annoyance. Hannibal regarded the mortification first.

“As I said, you did a good job. If you would have misstepped I would have warned you,” he spoke with a pained hoarseness in his tone as he straightened his posture.

“Why didn’t you do this yourself?” Will questioned.

“You offered and I didn’t want to be rude,” Hannibal responded honestly.

Will nodded his head no in disbelief before grabbing some bandages and wrapping them around the wounds to shield them from infection, mildly frustrated but unwilling to talk about it.

Hannibal thought for a moment before he began speaking calmly, “It is difficult to do any good in the present, isn’t it?”

Will frowned to himself but continued, silently agreeing.

“You took me in with a fervor I could only attribute to a good man… or a man trying to compensate for past wrongs. If you don’t mind me asking,” he spoke thoughtfully, “which is it?”

“Either option yields the same result, doesn’t it?” he speaks, tying off the wrappings and leaving Hannibal to gather up the medical supplies. Hannibal watches him unyieldingly, head tilted with slight adoration and interest. His not responding made Will uncomfortable so he opted to ask an easier question. “What’s your name?”

“Hannibal.”

“...Will.”

Hannibal smiled faintly and nodded a little, eyes downcast in thought almost sadly, “Tell me, Will. What would you have me do right now?”

Will’s brows furrowed slightly as he finally met Hannibal’s eyes again.

“Stay? Help perhaps? I’m a good cook, given ample resources, or would you have me leave, Will?”

Will’s consciousness screamed at him to tell the man to leave. It wasn’t for any particular reason he could recognize. The man was terrifyingly intelligent but seemed ample, kind, and genuine. Did Will aim to push away every human that offers their help and acceptance?

He was lonely and unwilling to provide himself the attention he desperately needed, until now. Looking down at the bowl holding reddened water and a damp rag, Will sighed out a defeated, “stay… for now.”

“Of course,” Hannibal spoke fondly.

**Author's Note:**

> This had been sitting in my drafts for about a year. I honestly wanted an excuse to write Will tending to Hannibal's wounds and live for the dreary atmosphere of a zombie apocalypse alternative universe. I'll likely add to this if it is received well but the most I'll be able to add for the following chapters is our two boys getting closer with faint hints of what Hannibal had gone through before the events of this cozy, little fanfiction.
> 
> I hope you all like it and are having a good Halloween!
> 
> Additionally, I love constructive criticism, recommendations, and comments in general. :-)


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